The only promise is that final cry.
Time, itself, tells us each and every day.
No one, no thing in life can death defy.

When the dying springtime takes its last sigh,
Withering flowers themselves seem to say
The only promise is that final cry.

An object holds our exuberant high
Yet no sooner dulls, then passes away.
No one, no thing in life can death defy.

Certain is the fowl who will cease to fly,
Silenced by the springing of feathers’ gray.
The only promise is that final cry.

From first waking, the world presses our eye
solely to show what comes before decay.
No one, no thing in life can death defy.

Even God is unknown, yet still we try
To prove only what can be found in faith.
The only promise is that final cry.
No one, no thing in life can death defy.